


The Great In-Between

by fromward (from)



Category: Merlin (BBC), Merlin (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, Drama, M/M, Multi, Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:56:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/from/pseuds/fromward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there isn’t enough sleep but quite enough of an ever after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so very much to mahaliem for the beta, nel_ani for audiencing and pimping the show, and oxoniensis for the britpick and more. Written in 2008 and reworked in 2013.

Rooted at the edge of the marshes while Merlin called for him from their depths, staring at the foul brume that refused to part even as the winds howled, Arthur knew he was dreaming. 

In reality, Merlin had not said, ‘Arthur,’ in that beseeching way from somewhere deep in the miles of murk. In reality, Merlin had simply returned, broken through the mist, and said, ‘Good to see you. It's bloody cold out there,’ before slumping down into Arthur's arms. At Athelney, after two days of not being able to do a damn thing but wait, Arthur had got Merlin back and the fool hadn't even needed saving, not of the kind Arthur was good at doing, anyway. 

This, then, was a dream. 

‘Arthur.’

 _Yes._ It was a dream. 

In reality, Merlin’s voice was not like the naked one saying his name as if his body was being born alongside it, shaped in sound; Merlin’s was not intoxicating.

If anything, when Merlin called his name, it was as if he was being pulled awake.

‘Arthur.’

He jolted up, shoulders above a sea of pillows. ‘Who’s there?’ he gasped.

‘It is I, your servant.’

‘Merlin?’ he said, not remembering until much later that it was not a particularly good attempt at a guess because Merlin was no longer his servant. 

Even before Arthur had the use of candlelight, the near full moon showed his rooms to be empty. He drew the dagger he kept at his bedside and got on his feet. 

When he stepped into the cool hallway, he saw it was asleep. Beyond its windows, the rest of the castle stood dreaming still, encampments of visitors to Camelot’s largest festival of the year dotting the landscape around it; and beyond, light sashes of smoke decorated dark swathes of what in daylight was summer green. 

At a loss, Arthur returned to his chambers and lay awake, thoughts spiralling.

*

‘For target practice, Merlin! Target practice!’ the master chandler raged, sweat dripping onto his collar. ‘When we have few to spare!’

‘What would you have me say to the king, Frith?’ Merlin asked, sneaking a look at the storeroom behind the man. It looked to be still half full of candles.

‘What? Oh, yes, where was I…’ Frith scratched his misshapen beard, consulting the ledger in front of him. ‘Well.’ He fussed and shook his head. ‘Well, tell the king I can have them delivered to the Mercian tents by the afternoon.’

Merlin nodded and went on his way. 

He still had to find the castle’s winemakers and ask for their news before returning to Uther with the report requested of him late the previous night, the king’s messenger considering the task more commonplace than Merlin could himself. 

It might have been months since he had a proper position in Camelot, but it had not ceased to feel strange. He hoped being assigned to Gaius for the tournaments meant the king was changing his mind about a formal apprenticeship. He wandered in search of Edmund, Egbert and Egric, sure they had told him they would be in the square after the morning meal. It would be easy to use a subtle bit of magic to find the brothers, and with so many people about, Merlin was somewhat tempted. 

He made his way through the laughter of townsfolk and merry visitors, much too close to hushed discussions of marriage, behind bawdy jokes, around sage political advice and past the happiest of nonsense.

Arthur had often complained that Merlin liked to talk too much in the morning, but they had also enjoyed their companionable silences, and Merlin still thought them good to wake to. Not what most would call the ultimate sacrifice, letting go of such things, but it did feel like one since his day no longer began with Arthur. 

Nimueh had warned him of it, had told him what would happen once he stepped out of the mist. ‘Uther assumes to know the heart of one sorcerer is to know them all, and he has raised Arthur to believe the same,’ she had said. Merlin had foolishly disregarded her. He had wanted to believe better.

They had survived the marshes, saved lives from the sufferings of a war across three kingdoms, but he and Arthur were left circling the periphery of their friendship, unable to find a way back. Their days in Camelot had become unfixed, under the guise of being without a fate; and it was not what Merlin would call living, not at all.

He stepped around the noblewomen wilting in their green silks, thinking it easier to find the winemakers if he could make use of the windowed stairway and reach higher ground.

‘Merlin!’

He looked over his shoulder. Arthur was leaning against a wall, as if he hadn’t a hundred things to do. 

Merlin turned, narrowly avoiding a bottler and his barrow. ‘Good morning, sire.’

Arthur smiled distractedly for a moment before stepping forward. ‘Merlin, were you…’ 

Merlin waited until he felt a little ridiculous standing there, the two of them not saying a word. ‘Was I what, sire?’

‘No, nothing,’ Arthur said. He smiled and gave Merlin a punch that turned into an awkward rub close to his collar. ‘Tell my father we found a dead deer this morning under the rowans by the lake. He might want to remind our guests there’s to be no hunting in the night, no matter how soused they’re getting this week.’ 

He nodded. ‘Yes, sire. I will.’ 

‘And smile a little, will you. It’s a good day to be alive,’ Arthur said.

‘I’m smiling in here, sire,’ Merlin said, tapping his chest and grinning a little anyway.

Arthur snorted. ‘Well, don’t forget. Tell him what I told you.’

He watched Arthur walk away, feeling his skin burn under his shirt, his heart beating in frustration. _I’d rather tell him we’re not all the same. I’d rather you did, too._

*

He could not go with Merlin into the marshes because it meant abandoning his men; it was no question at all, and so Arthur knew he was in another dream. They lit a fire in the clearing and Merlin’s smile was gentle as he reached in and said: ‘Arthur. Please.’

‘Arthur.’

Ever compliant, mousy Morris had left the candles lit. Arthur stirred, being purposefully slow to rise so he could see before he was seen. 

There was no one there.

‘Arthur, it is time. Wake.’

It was easy to assume Merlin was the one calling him. On the everyday side of things, Merlin was the most obtuse person Arthur had ever known. He’d handed Arthur two left boots at regular intervals and wondered aloud if a quarry was truly there just as it had its ears trained at them, the hunters; he would not think Arthur already awake unless Arthur was standing up, juggling knives and plates of breakfast.

It was much harder to accept that the trickery could be Merlin’s. Not because it was impossible – the impossible was always Arthur’s to believe – but because after everything, Merlin would not risk what peace they had in Camelot. If Merlin wanted to rouse Arthur, he would do it in person. Arthur would of course yell and throw a pillow at him, but he would never turn Merlin away. 

Arthur left his rooms as soon as he had his clothes on, fixing his belt over the light tunic as he went along the torch-lit corridor.

By the main stairwell, he came upon a set of guards passing the foyer on patrol and had no way of avoiding them, not if he wanted to make sure they wouldn’t become suspicious and give chase. He started down the steps, hoping he would be ignored.

‘Is something the matter, my lord?’

‘Is there?’ Arthur whipped around, looking up. One of the lesser guards started at that, chastened. ‘I expect no matter would escape your notice. Not on this post,’ he told them.

‘Of course, sire.’ Their moustached leader nodded. 

Arthur continued down the stairs. Once he turned the corner, he was flying off again, to Merlin.

*

Arthur had been in the court physician’s quarters only once in the dead of night, when he’d led the drunken path back from the secret entryway in the armoury so Merlin could at least enjoy the small dignities that came with aching awake on one’s own bed. 

Warm air escaped into the corridor when he made his entry, making him flush. The windows were fully open, but being at the foot of the castle was clearly not helping the chambers’ occupants stave off summer’s heat.

Gaius lay on his bed, snoring as loudly as Uther’s most beloved mangy hound from the Mercian Peaks. He did not stir even as Arthur got into a small scrape with a book-laden bench, feeling his way through the clutter once the door to the castle hallway had closed. 

A small cauldron bubbled on one corner of Gaius’ worktable, the fire underneath giving off enough light to show the path to Merlin’s chamber. He took a candle by the iron handle of its plate and used the fire to feed it to life before going up the steps. 

Unlike his mentor, Merlin woke almost instantaneously. He sat up, pale shoulders and chest exposed as the thin blanket slipped down to pool by his waist, hands scrambling in what Arthur thought was an act of modesty.

Merlin rubbed clumsily at his body instead, as if cold in a room that felt to Arthur like a roaring hearth. ‘Arthur?’ He blinked, reaching for something on the floor. 

When Merlin came up with a shirt and began to put it on, his body snaking, Arthur looked away and moved to light the candle he saw by the window, and then the next one he spotted along the ledge.

‘What’s going on? What are you doing here?’ 

He gave Merlin a quick smile before taking a seat at the foot of the bed. 

‘It’s all a bit strange,’ he said. He turned his head to face Merlin and look for a place to put the candle down, grateful when it was taken out of his hands. 

Merlin used it to light another he’d lifted off the top of a shapeless mass on the floor and, shifting back in silence, placed the two in between himself and Arthur; he was waiting. 

Arthur pulled his feet up. Now that there was sufficient light, it felt a little like sitting around a fire after a fruitless hunt – when stories were what kept the night going instead of skinning work and the smell of a roast. He stopped drumming on his thighs and said: ‘Something odd happened.’

‘Did it.’ Merlin was looking carefully at him.

‘Yes. I heard you call my name.’

Merlin’s voice lost its gravelly shadow. ‘When?’

‘A little while ago. Your voice woke me up.’ 

Merlin smiled, looking confused. ‘But I’ve been right here. Sleeping,’ he said, stating the obvious. ‘In fact,’ he leaned back, scratching his head, ‘ _you_ just woke _me_ up. Are you sure it wasn’t a dream?’ he asked. ‘No, of course you’re sure. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.’

Arthur felt himself smile, too, touched by Merlin’s candour. ‘I’m certain it wasn’t a dream, not tonight.’

‘Did you—Hold on a minute. Tonight’s not the first time?’ 

He shook his head. ‘This time I heard the voice even when I'd woken, but there was no one else in the room. It must’ve been the work of magic.’

Unease trailed across Merlin’s face and Arthur could feel himself holding back a breath. ‘Well,’ Merlin said, giving him a smile, ‘that alone should tell you it wasn’t me, sire.’

‘He did not have your voice,’ Arthur was more than happy to admit, ‘but when I asked him who he was, he said...’ He stared at window, going over the scenes in his mind. ‘Well, come to think of it, he didn’t say his name was Merlin. He only said he’s my servant.’ 

He didn’t expect the guffaw. Merlin hadn’t laughed easily like that in front of him in months. 

‘Yes, yes. I know that’s Morris now. Again. But I don’t see why Morris would be calling me in my sleep,’ he said, and promptly coloured. ‘Anyway, it wasn’t too long ago that you were my servant and you do—’ He stopped himself. ‘It wasn’t too long ago. That’s all.’

‘I know,’ Merlin murmured after a moment. 

They sat in silence until, with eyes bright, Merlin said: ‘Arthur, you’re the crown prince of Camelot. Your servant could be anyone loyal to the Pendragons.’ 

_Of course._ And it took the most disobedient of them all to remind him. He shook his head, feeling foolish.

‘Look,’ Merlin said, rubbing his face with one hand, ‘maybe someone’s playing a trick on you.’

‘No one would dare.’

‘What about those knights from Alnwick who switched all the cider with hydromel?’ Merlin offered. ‘They seem like the type who would.’

‘They’re also encamped outside the castle grounds.’ 

‘Mm.’ Merlin crossed his arms behind his head, elbows the shoulders of a star on the wall. ‘So you think it’s someone staying in here, then?’ he asked. ‘That should be easy, shouldn’t it?’

Arthur rolled his eyes. Sometimes Merlin’s continued ignorance about Camelot was unbelievable. ‘Easy? There are hundreds of guests in the castle this week.’ 

As if trying to illustrate his point, the square down below started to stir with the movement of drawn carts and not a moment later, the changing of the guards. 

‘Hey, it’s nearing daybreak,’ Merlin said, sounding surprised. ‘Don’t you need more rest? Isn’t the mêlée today? You could probably do with a bit more sleep.’

‘What exactly are you trying to say, Merlin?’

*

Merlin was, to understate the matter, in a very good mood. 

As he made his way through the castle, he marvelled at how it could possibly be the last time he would go to meet the dragon on his own; perhaps it would be the dragon, too, who would explain to Arthur what Merlin’s side of the coin looked like; and it was very likely, was it not, that Arthur would be able to digest the dragon’s withholding ways far better than Merlin ever had. 

Past the upper dungeons, where human prisoners were kept in drier surroundings, the path to the dragon’s keep was littered with crates of supplies, their contents spilling over the edges. He tried not to make a racket but doubted the guards would be paying attention anyway, so riotous was the noise in the stairwell: the whorled sounds of every movement and expression in its corner of the castle. 

When Merlin got down to the ledge, the Great Dragon was already on his perch in the dank cavern. He waited for the beast to make a pithy comment and hearing nothing, felt his mood lift even higher.

‘You could just tell him who you are, you know,’ he said, resting one cloaked shoulder against the wall. 

Nothing registered in the dragon’s beady eyes. 

Merlin sighed loudly, but only because he still had no way of telling if the dragon could even see a raised eyebrow. ‘Arthur,’ he clarified. ‘If you want to get him down here, he’s going to need more specific instructions.’ He pushed off the wall, adding with a smile: ‘He’s not me, after all.’

The Great Dragon tilted his head. ‘He’s not and yet he is,’ he said.

‘Right,’ Merlin said, making a point to carry on before he felt himself frown. ‘Right. He’s in the tournament all day today and tomorrow, and there are feasts till the end of the week – they’re a merry lot this summer – but Uther’s begrudgingly decided to bestow audience to some latecomers on Friday so he should have a free afternoon then and—’

‘I do not know why you think young Pendragon’s social calendar is as interesting to me as it is to you.’ The dragon flapped its wings, his claws curling for purchase on the rock; time was up. 

Merlin forgot about his torch for a moment and it swung wildly in his hand. 

‘Wait!’ He shouted as the dragon looked up, ready for flight. ‘Didn’t you—You’re not the one who’s been calling and rousing him at night?’

The dragon turned to look at Merlin. ‘He has told you he’s being roused at night by a call?’ he asked, a strange flare of something like expectation in his eyes.

Merlin let out a nervous chuckle. ‘You’re not exactly putting me at ease here.’

‘Perhaps you should not be at ease,’ the dragon said, sinking back on his haunches. ‘I am not the only magical being in this castle.’

‘Well, you’re more like under it, really,’ Merlin said, thinking the dragon’s smile a little too satisfied. ‘Hey, wait!’ he shouted when the dragon huffed and flew away. ‘Are you saying it’s me who—Wait! Who else is here who’s magical?’

*

Gaius watched Merlin rush to and fro past the physician’s tent in all directions and resisted the urge to call after him. He was careful these days to show affection for the boy outside their lodgings; he knew Uther was still trying to weigh Merlin’s situation in the royal household. He couldn’t fault the king for the deliberations and was only thankful his enquiries had not taken too perilous a turn. It was a difficult matter: on the one hand, there was Arthur refusing to take Merlin back as a manservant and on the other, well, there was also Arthur insisting the boy be retained permanently at court. 

He told his assistants that he was going to the royal stands to pay his respects and left, trying his best to keep away from the blazing sun. It didn’t take long to catch sight of Merlin’s frame wandering in and out of the wrong tents, the sounds of cheering and jeering coming from within them. 

When he caught up to Merlin, the boy gave him a relieved, if distracted grin. Gaius was patting his arm before he knew it; he supposed, family was family. 

They walked side by side through the throng, soon lost in their own thoughts as they were wont to do. He wished Arthur’s knights well as they went past in a flourish of red and nudged Merlin to do the same; Gaius knew they had looked on the boy in a different way since the mission to the levels and moors of Athelney.

In the stretch of grass between the tents and the stands, Merlin halted and said, ‘Gaius, you know how that Druid boy’ – Gaius felt a chill go through him – ‘could speak to me using his mind?’

‘Yes?’

When Merlin hesitated, Gaius glanced around and urged Merlin to start walking again, preferably away from anyone who looked to be local. ‘If this is going to require us to whisper about the place then make it quick, Merlin,’ he said, ‘I won’t be able to hear a thing once the horns start blasting.’

Merlin leaned close to Gaius’ good ear. ‘Well, d’you know of any Druids passing through Camelot at the moment?’ 

‘You can’t be serious. The only time a Druid would pass through Camelot these days is if his intended destination is the chopping block.’

Merlin’s brows furrowed. ‘Could someone who isn’t a Druid have such powers?’

‘It’s possible, yes,’ Gaius said after a moment. ‘But I have not heard of such a person before.’

Geoffrey of Monmouth nodded to them before disappearing into the royal stands and Merlin didn’t need to be prompted to smile back. Perhaps he had put their differences and that week in the stocks behind him. 

‘Someone who could do that wouldn’t happen to need to possess the old magic, would they?’ Merlin asked.

‘What is this about?’ Gaius had not heard anyone speak of old magic in years and there was a reason for it. ‘Merlin, what have you got yourself mixed up in now?’

Merlin blanched. ‘What?’ He shook his head. ‘No! I’m—I’m not mixed up in anything!’ 

‘I suggest you be honest with me, Merlin.’

‘I’m not mixed up in anything. I promise,’ the boy said, and Gaius truly wanted to believe him. ‘It’s…’ He looked chagrined, grasping Gaius’ arm as if to comfort and be comforted at the same time. 

‘Merlin.’

He laughed softly. ‘It’s not that. Gaius, I’m only wondering…’ Gaius could feel resolve building and waited. ‘Have you ever heard me say things in my sleep?’

‘Everyone says things in their sleep.’

‘Really? I’ve only ever heard you snore.’ 

The boy was cheekier than he’d ever remembered Hunith being. ‘Well, I’ve heard you do both,’ he retorted.

Merlin glanced into his eyes, quiet now. ‘What have I said? In my sleep, I mean.’

‘Mostly gibberish,’ Gaius told him, ‘but sometimes words of the old language. Spells. Incantations.’ He looked into the boy’s eyes. ‘You must be careful about that, Merlin. ‘

‘I know,’ Merlin said, staring into the distance. 

Knights on both sides of today’s mêlée were entering the grounds to the sounds of horns and cheering from the crowd. Gaius could see the princes riding in lead, with Arthur resplendent at the head. 

‘Oh, and Arthur’s name. Of course, that’s—’

‘Gaius!’ An attendant rushed up shouting, brown curls bouncing against her teeter-tottering hat. ‘The Lady Edgyth of Clwyd has hurt herself at the edge of the fields and the tournament is about to begin.’

Merlin’s eyes were full of concern and Gaius felt a small triumph in the air: the boy, it seemed, had what it took after all. ‘Go on, Merlin. I’m sure you can handle this on your own.’

‘Wait, what?’

Gaius patted his back, wanting to ease the panic in his voice. ‘It’s alright, Merlin,’ he said, giving the boy some encouragement. ‘It’s probably only a bruised ankle or—’

‘No, no,’ he said, looking stricken. ‘About Arthur.’

‘What about Arthur?’ Gaius asked, confused. ‘Go, Merlin.’ He gave the boy a shove, mindful of the speed they must act in. ‘The lady needs you to attend to her.’

Merlin dragged his feet, but was soon gone. Gaius smiled at the look of relief on the faces of onlookers when the lady was escorted to safety.

Growing peace throughout the lands was surely what made the midsummer celebrations this year such a grand affair, Gaius reflected, surveying the crowds gathering for the mock fight in the fields south of the castle. How good it was that Nimueh’s plans to bring back old feuds between Camelot, Mercia and their allies had been thwarted. 

It pleased him, too, to be gathered with old friends he had not seen for twenty years; he had expected to die before ever again discussing and debating herbal remedies with Eadbald over a few flasks of wine. He’d make an exception, then, if they were to do it once more tonight and perhaps every night until the festival ended.

*

It was only a mock battle, Morgana had reminded him, but it was still a battle. She had little interest in politics, but she understood; displays of power kept their position in Albion secure and she would not lose another home again. 

Arthur saw her seated by his father and saluted them both from his steed before putting on his helmet. The crowd roared again and his men – his knights, and the sons of lords and vassals who’d drawn their lot to fight on his side today – responded in kind.

And then he heard that familiar voice. 

‘Wait, wait, wait!’ 

_Merlin._

Arthur turned to give Merlin a piece of his mind but was silenced by disbelief when he saw him on the ground nearby, tangled up in the gowns of a lady of the nobility. If the men refrained from making any lewd comments, it was only because the lady looked utterly capable of revenge.

‘Are you all right?’ Arthur shouted.

Merlin looked over; his face had blushed scarlet, his ears looking like they had been rubbed raw by indecent thoughts.

Before Arthur could approach, they were on their feet, a few attendants and courtiers helping Merlin support the noblewoman and walk away from the edge of the fields.

Merlin had a knack for disrupting ceremony, Arthur knew, but there should be no reason for the fool to be falling apart like that.

*

The trickle of wounded knights turned into a flood after the mêlée, and at its height, Merlin resorted to making sure he had an unending roll of domestic cloth at his disposal; Gaius was far too busy at his end of the tent to notice any sleights of hand and on one short visit to Merlin’s corner, he merely seemed relieved to see that Merlin was keeping up. 

Close to twilight, Arthur’s band of knights and their wide-eyed pages came barrelling in with fresh pails of water. The younger servants – whose duty it had been to go to the pumps in the lower town – arrived a little later with salves and ointments from the Mercian herbalist; and behind them was a smiling Arthur, who’d obviously been playing taskmaster even as he and his men were covered in ugly cuts and bruises. He looked to be in no hurry to be treated as he jostled about, playing with the crutches and being a general nuisance; it was clear whose side had won on the field today.

‘Well?’ 

Merlin looked up from the splint he was constructing under Sir Conon’s forearm. Arthur was grinning at him, blond hair fluffed and matted in all directions. ‘Well?’ Merlin echoed, rather used to having no clue as to what Arthur meant by things like: _And? Well? So? Am I right?_

‘Yes?’

That, too. 

He gave Sir Conon a bottle of one of Gaius’ lighter drowsy syrups and some suggestions on its use before turning back to Arthur. ‘Contrary to what you might think, sire,’ he said, ‘I can’t read minds.’

Arthur’s look of surprise, sans maniacal eyebrows, seemed genuine. ‘Didn’t you see me demolish those twits from Bernicia?’

Merlin shrugged. He had seen some of the action from the high lookout points in the stands, but he’d been distracted. ‘I was busy, sire,’ he said, motioning for the next knight to step up. 

‘Yes, yes, rescuing ladies from sitting too long under the sun and such,’ Arthur drawled, tapping on the tabletop; he looked over his shoulder and nodded to the knight, who only then came forward. ‘But did you not see?’ 

‘I caught the start of the whole thing,’ he said to Arthur before asking the knight to show his wounds. ‘And snatches in between.’

Arthur went around the table and straddled the bench, saying something about a good fight and a mess of helmets to sort out. Merlin let him talk about the Bernicians as he got on with cleaning and dressing an unhappy, jagged gash where blood had clotted with bits of grass and dirt. 

‘Hoy, Merlin,’ Arthur slapped his back, ‘what’s the matter with you?’

He looked down at the prince, confused for a moment about what was what. 

He was met by Arthur's demanding stare. ‘Well?’

‘For god’s sake, Arthur,’ he said in a whisper. ‘I’ll make sure to be there when you trounce everyone in the jousting tomorrow, all right?’

Arthur scowled and got up, but it was obvious he would have the last word. ‘The Bernicians were the ones who made fun of your hat at the opening feast,’ he muttered.

Merlin wanted to laugh at his petulance, but it seemed an unkind thing to do; and perhaps, he had to admit, the reasons that made his magic so marked between them were the selfsame reasons why they did such things for each other. 

‘So you showed those prats, did you?’ he said, head bent over the unguents.

‘Well, that hat’s for my amusement alone.’ 

‘That’s too bad,’ Merlin said, grinning up at Arthur. ‘You should see how it looks on Gaius when he’s asleep.’ 

Arthur barked a laugh. ‘I suppose I can give you permission for that,’ he said, walking away to be tended to. 

When Merlin looked in his notebook a while later for the chart he’d made of Gaius’ oral remedies, he noticed a scrawl in Arthur’s hand. 

_Come to my chambers tonight._

*

‘I’m going to nod off,’ Merlin said, finishing an apple at Arthur’s table. ‘I just know I am.’

‘Well, make sure that you don’t,’ Arthur told him.

Merlin made a face. ‘How can I do that?’

Arthur got up and drew something out of the inner chamber. ‘Sit here,’ he said, pointing to what looked like a child’s step stool. ‘It’s most uncomfortable.’

‘Er.’ Merlin squinted. ‘Do I have to?’

‘Just sit here, Merlin,’ Arthur said, clearly uninterested in the possibility that the endeavour would cost Merlin his legs by the morning.

Merlin stood up and walked over. The step stool barely went up to his shins. He looked at Arthur, who was regarding it with what masqueraded as approval. Merlin shook his head. ‘I’d rather stand, thanks.’

‘Well, that’ll do, too,’ Arthur said, disappearing behind the tripartite screen as if Merlin had never seen him undressing before.

‘I don’t see why you can’t just ask for a couple of guards to stand right outside,’ Merlin told him, putting his hand on the step stool to test its durability. It was then that Merlin noticed the fine millwork and the quality of the wood.

‘I will not ask for increased security when the castle is full of Camelot’s friends, Merlin,’ Arthur said, his brown shirt flying in the air. Merlin guided it to fall where a dirtied tunic already lay on the floor. ‘Besides, we’ve decided this trick or whatever it is doesn’t involve an exit through the doors.’

‘Doors we know of,’ Merlin muttered. 

Merlin left the step stool alone, not relishing the thought of breaking what must be one of Arthur’s sentimental possessions, of which he’d thought Arthur had owned naught. He decided he would take instead the inglenook window bench closest to the bed. He could do with as much fresh air as possible, after all, and Arthur’s chambers had the advantage of being on the topmost floor in the royal household; the breeze, he knew from evenings past, would be hearty.

‘I’ve slept in this room since I was nine,’ Arthur said, leaning against a bedpost, arms crossed over his bare chest. The richly coloured hangings warmed his skin and his eyes seemed even more startlingly blue. ‘I know every corner and every stone in it.’ 

Merlin looked away and shrugged. ‘They could be magicked,’ he said, and regretted mentioning the subject as soon as it left his mouth.

‘No one would use magic in Camelot merely to play innocent tricks,’ Arthur argued, matter-of-fact.

‘No,’ Merlin agreed, taking his kerchief off out of habit and busying himself with finding a place for it. He didn’t think he could look at Arthur and keep up any talk of magic.

‘If there’s magic involved in this, Merlin, I have more of a problem than I’d thought.’

‘ _We_ have more of a problem than you’d thought,’ Merlin said, loosening his boots. When he looked up, he saw Arthur’s reflection in the rectangular glass panes watching him. It was also how he caught sight of the pillow hurtling from the bed. He yelped as it hit his back. 

When he turned around, Arthur had moved to face the door: a blond head of hair against gentle spokes of shadow. ‘And what’s this?’ he called. ‘I’m supposed to be uncomfortable, remember?’

‘That’s to beat yourself on the head with,’ Arthur told him, shoulder taut under the blanket though his tone brought a grin to Merlin’s face.

‘Thank you, sire,’ he said. He used the pillow to cushion his tired feet and shook off other comforts; it wouldn’t do to nod off. 

As he waited for Arthur’s steady, loose breathing – that tuneless song he clung onto in the fear-laden marshes last winter – he knew trepidation was also keeping him upright and awake. If his magic was at fault, he wanted to be the first to know.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much to mahaliem for the beta, nel_ani for audiencing and pimping the show, and oxoniensis for the britpick and more. Written in 2008 and reworked in 2013.

Gwen knew it was not her place to mind, but she did wonder where the Lady Morgana had been spending her time in recent days. She supposed it was only her luck the furs had been put away for the warmer months or she’d be struggling to rid them of the dank smell that seemed to cling to some of her mistress’ clothes of late.

She knocked on the door and entered, finding the lady already sitting at the table with a ledger.

‘Good morning, my lady.’

‘Good morning, Gwen.’ She put down her quill and looked up. ‘And what’s the news today?’

Gwen paused from attending to the bed. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You look as if there’s something on your mind.’

She smiled and shook her head. ‘No. Not at all.’

‘Come on. I can tell when you’re bothered about something,’ her mistress said, wandering up to the other side of the bed. ‘Tell me.’ 

Gwen gathered the pillows, taking one from her mistress’ kind hand. ‘I saw Merlin this morning. He told me Prince Arthur kept him up all night in his rooms. I mean—He…’ 

Morgana began to laugh and Gwen followed suit, feeling a little silly. 

She took a brush to the pillows and, knowing it was a subject they both cared about, continued: ‘I saw him taking down some clothes and—’ She looked up, tilting slightly aside to avoid meeting the morning sun with her eyes. ‘Do you think the prince will ask the king for Merlin? To be his manservant again, I mean.’

Her mistress smoothed down the cream bed sheet and sat. ‘I doubt it,’ she said, ‘but who knows what goes on in Arthur’s mind these days.’ She looked at her nails. ‘Why? Has Merlin spoke to you of it?’

‘No, he hasn’t,’ Gwen said. ‘But he looked bothered and awfully tired, as if he’d been made to do all sorts of ridiculous chores for the prince last night. Like how it was when he first arrived.’

‘I wouldn’t worry, Gwen.’

‘Yes, but—’ She paused to make sure she had the words. ‘‘It's been months since they journeyed to the shore and the king has yet to make up his mind about Merlin. He’s been indulging Arthur’s whims and Merlin is caught in the middle.’ 

Her mistress gave a small nod, hands curling and uncurling into the trim of her sleeve. It reminded Gwen of how Merlin had wound the ties of Arthur’s shirt in his fingers – the red lashed against his pale skin – while he’d traded laughs with her in the workrooms downstairs. 

‘But you do understand Arthur’s point of view,’ Morgana finally said. ‘Without Merlin, it would have all been lost. It wouldn’t do to have our allies know that their fates had rested in the hands of a manservant, regardless of his deeds.’ 

Gwen had a lot of things to say about that, but she held her tongue. 

‘I think it’s best that Uther indulges Arthur. For now, it's perhaps the only situation that is keeping Merlin here,’ Morgana said with a smile that spoke of dissatisfaction. ‘Uther still won’t listen to anyone. He seems adamant Merlin not be apprenticed to Gaius or anyone at court, even when the case for him to train as a knight is hopeless and there are too few choices left to consider.’

‘What do you think of it all?’ Gwen asked, watching Morgana’s face soften as she did.

The lady smiled, her green eyes twinkling. ‘I think I would like you not to worry yourself.’

It was her expression and not her words that made Gwen flush. 

‘Merlin has a destiny he’s more than capable of fulfilling. We all do,’ Morgana said. Standing up, she flicked at the ties of the bed hangings, smiling like a child. ‘We just have to make sure Arthur refrains himself from being a little despot so we can all have an easier time at it.’

Gwen laughed softly, but her mind was already wondering about the sort of destiny that came with clothes smelling of dank.

*

After their meal, Arthur left Morgana to her pleasures and walked down to the tournament fields. It took him a while to find Merlin, having had to continuously dodge the idle courtier chatter that he used to be able to deter simply by scowling.

Arthur watched Merlin close a satchel of a type he’d seen in Gaius’ hands before and bow at the Northern nobleman he’d attended to, not far away from where the jousts for young knights had been held all morning long. He lingered by a few palfreys, their spurs bearing marks he did not recognise, until Merlin looked to be set in his chair once more, waiting for the hurt and wounded. 

Merlin appeared to him deathly tired and perhaps a little sad. He wondered if Morgana’s odd concerns had found a place in his own head. 

He had no intention of making Merlin his manservant again, and he suspected she had known that. Whatever she had meant to say, he couldn't afford to show too much favour toward Merlin; it wouldn’t keep Merlin by his side.

‘Why didn’t you wake me this morning?’ he asked, one hand on the back of Merlin’s chair.

Merlin stood up. ‘You were sound asleep, my lord,’ he said softly.

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, nodded to a passing squire, and leaned in just enough to let them keep the conversation as their own. ‘I didn’t dream up that voice, Merlin.’

‘I believe you,’ Merlin said, his dark blue eyes suddenly unbearable for Arthur to look at. ‘I did and I still do.’

Arthur broke away to look at the stands, at spectators stepping across to their seats to watch equals in name brave each other’s steel. He loved tourneys, they were always a special occasion for him, and yet he had no appetite for the charge today. He turned back to Merlin. ‘I can’t have Morris or anyone else sit with me while I sleep, so—’ 

‘I’ll be there tonight,’ Merlin said, looking at the ground.

Arthur cleared his throat. ‘What I was about to say was: it’s fine.’ 

At that, Merlin looked up. ‘What d’you mean?’

‘I won’t have you made sick with exhaustion and worry,’ Arthur told him. ‘If this is to continue, there are other nights yet. So rest in your bed tonight.’

Merlin glanced away and then chuckled. ‘My lord, I’m never sick with worry about an arse,’ he said. ‘Not even a royal one.’

Arthur snorted, not needing to see Merlin’s playful smile to know he’d just said a lie. ‘I suspect some may regard it as one of the more charming things about you, Merlin,’ he said, thinking about how loyal those around him had become to the ridiculous fool.

Of course he wanted Merlin to be liked and loved by all, but he wished for no one else to be privy to the powerful heart he knew beat fiercely inside. Somehow, Arthur was beginning to understand, he had made the opposite come true.

*

Merlin sensed it was time to talk about what he had specifically ventured to the caverns for. They were going nowhere with the matter of his father, which the Great Dragon seemed to think more amusing than exhausting to draw out.

‘I think I’m the one who’s been waking Arthur. I think I’ve been using magic to call him in my sleep,’ he said, seeing the dragon's cryptic remark about having tails as good a cue as any. ‘All of last night, I kept myself awake and Arthur didn’t stir once in bed.’ 

‘Contrary to what you may think, I do not wish to be aware of all the details of your life,’ the dragon said. ‘I hear enough as it is down here. Do you know what Eude of Dyfed does with his wife and their chamber pot?’ 

‘No! And I don’t want to hear about it, thanks!’ Merlin told him. ‘God, do you really have to listen to all of that?’ He looked up and found he couldn’t even see the cavern’s ceiling, but perhaps the voices did carry through. ‘How can you stand it?’

The dragon swung, its chain tearing across the ledge with a searing thunder.

‘Point taken,’ Merlin shouted, scrambling on the ground. 

He moved to stand, heart pounding, and found his legs too weak. ‘Look,’ he said, sliding down to lean against the cavern wall when he saw the dragon returned to his perch, ‘I just need to know. Why am I calling to him? I’m not doing it because I want to. It must just happen.’

‘Your path and Arthur's lie together,’ the dragon said, and Merlin wished there was some comfort in the dreadfully familiar. ‘Your destiny—’ 

‘Enough about destiny! If he has proof that I can do magic, it’s all over and there won’t be a destiny to even talk about! ’ Merlin said. ‘He’ll have to hand me over to his father and I know he doesn’t want to do that.’

The dragon flapped his wings lazily, sending a soft breeze across the divide. ‘You do not trust him.’

‘Of course I do,’ Merlin said. He unclasped his cloak and set it aside, suddenly aware of the dust and grime it had scraped up moments ago and the cleaning he would have to do; not dying did have its inconveniences, as he well knew. ‘I trust him with my life. I just…’ he faltered, thinking it suddenly too much to say.

‘You do not believe that when the time comes, he will choose you over his own father.’

Merlin shook his head. ‘Arthur will choose Camelot.’

The dragon roared, his eyes full of mirth. ‘Then you have nothing to fear, young warlock.’

Merlin opened his mouth and closed it again. 

It was going to be a late night, Merlin realised, taking care to settle in, his cloak a cushion on the ground; the dragon always had a hard time admitting how envisioning the death of the man who had imprisoned him wasn’t exactly a simple matter of prophesying fate.

*

On the side of the lake where the carnage had unfolded, the forest floor was still beyond the reaches of the sun; there was time yet to remove the carcasses before the heat gave its breath to the rising stench, though the sight was already a horror to Arthur’s eyes. Even a hunter such as he found it difficult to let his eyes rest on the brown and white fur matted solid with soil and blood, so great in quantity the deer lay under the trees. The rowans seemed to droop over the mounds of flesh at their feet, and if he were soft-hearted, he would think they were deep in mourning.

‘Arthur,’ he heard.

He looked over his shoulder. ‘Where the hell have you been?’ he groused, glad that Merlin seemed all right but more than a little annoyed at the trouble that brewed; he could not fathom how one person could be so unbearably inconvenient. The court’s machinations seemed intent to tie Merlin together with Gaius’ treachery and the idiot had not the decency to be present when he’d needed accounting for. 

‘Well, Merlin?’

Merlin took a few steps forward and fell back, making a choking noise.

Arthur was about to put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder when he noticed Merlin’s dishevelled state and the awkward tightness of his body; and where his hand almost rested, a strand of gossamer silk twined with dark hair, long as only a woman’s could be. ‘I said,’ he snapped, ‘where the hell have you been?’

Merlin only looked ahead, seemingly too stunned. ‘What’s happened?’

His anger was quick to dissipate as he watched Merlin’s eyes sweep over the broken bodies and splayed entrails. ‘From all accounts, the whole herd of fallow deer from the royal forest; they’ve been massacred in a sacrifice or some other act of madness,’ Arthur told him.

‘Who would do such a thing?’ Merlin asked, as if something had broken inside, and Arthur remembered the day he had killed the unicorn and called Merlin a girl for sniffling. He hadn’t known what to do then, and he didn’t now.

Seaan of Gwent came rushing down from behind a mound of carcass, covered in soil and god knew what else. ‘My lord, we found these by that group over there,’ he said, opening his gloved palm to reveal two empty vessels, the yellow glass cracked sunken.

‘That’s…’

Arthur looked at Merlin, not wanting to ask but knowing the question must be his. ‘Do you recognise them?’

Merlin swallowed. ‘I do. They’re Eadbald’s. He’s the Mercian court herbalist.’ He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting. ‘I’d better find Gaius,’ he said and turned to go.

Seaan was quick to bring Merlin to a halt. 

‘Wait,’ Arthur said, heart heavy. ‘My father wishes to see you. He’s looking for you and Gaius both.’

*

Uther did not wait for the doors to close. ‘Is it true that neither you nor Gaius have been seen in your quarters these past few nights?’

‘No, my lord,’ Merlin replied. ‘No. Not exactly.’

Uther exhaled, greatly lamenting the difficulty of sending Merlin to the stocks until the week was over, so choked up were the streets with more festive activities. He stood from the throne to approach him, advising: ‘You are aware, Merlin, what the punishment is for telling lies before me.’

‘Well, er, maybe not every night,’ Merlin said, shifting from one foot to the other. ‘I wasn’t there last night. And, er, the night before last. But, my lord, I never left the grounds. I—’

‘Then where, pray tell, have you been?’

Merlin swayed where he stood, looking lost. He shot a searching glance at Arthur, and then at Uther’s advisers, and the guards, and Uther himself, as if indiscriminate; there was much to the boy, Uther knew from such glimpses into his workings, and it made him uneasy to think of Merlin grown as a man.

‘He’s been with—’ 

His son’s voice was cut off by Morgana’s, the silence cleaved from two sides of the hall. ‘‘My lord has no time for idle gossip, but from what talk there is, it appears Merlin’s willingness to go beyond the line of duty has not been lost on our guests. They have been very pleased to have him at their disposal this week.’

‘What?’ Arthur’s merciless chuckle rang out.

Merlin’s eyes darted back and forth from Arthur to Morgana. ‘I’ve only done what I can, nothing more,’ he said, twisting his hands. He glanced up at Uther. ‘That is, if it pleases you, my lord.’ He closed his eyes for a moment. ‘What I mean by that, sire, is… As Prince Arthur’s servant, I—I mean, as Camelot’s, as your servant, I—’ 

‘There’s no need for any more of your stumbling and bumbling,’ Uther said. He was not prepared to hear tales of his household being told, not when Camelot’s legacy was under the attack of treachery. ‘It has come to my attention that the Lady of Clwyd was most appreciative of your services.’ 

The boy’s cheeks and the tips of his ears turned a deep red. ‘Yes, my lord, but I—’

‘As were the good knights of Bernicia,’ Uther added. ‘They did take quite a beating in the tournament, didn’t they?’ he laughed.

‘Yes, my lord. They did sustain significant injuries,’ Merlin agreed. ‘They weren’t very good.’ He looked startled by something and quickly said, ‘Or rather, they were bested by the best.’ He cleared his throat, pulling at his kerchief. ‘Although that’s just my humble opinion. They don’t need to, er, be told…that, do they?’

‘Merlin,’ Uther cautioned, eyes already wandering to the documents before him. ‘What did I say about stumbling and bumbling?’

The boy looked chagrined. ‘Yes, my lord.’

He dismissed Merlin, noticing Arthur slip away with the boy, and asked for only his court advisors to remain; Uther understood there was more than a single disaster waiting to be contained, but even a king such as himself was only one man and time, he hoped, was still a friend.

*

‘I suppose I needn’t have worried so much about keeping you away from your bed,’ Arthur said, throwing his stained gloves to the floor when they were finally alone in his chambers upstairs. Merlin supposed he thought them ruined.

‘Arthur, Morgana told a lie for me,’ he said, looking to follow but deciding he’d be better off on the other side of the bedroom. ‘I was here with you two nights ago. The night before that, you saw me in my bed. You _woke me up_. And then last night… I, er, well, I was—’

‘I don’t care where you were,’ Arthur told him, ‘not as long as you weren’t off killing animals in the most despicable manner possible.’ He turned to sit on the bed and began working off his boots. ‘You know, if you’d kept a better eye on Gaius in the first place, this mess probably wouldn’t have started.’ 

Arthur's sentiment galled him. ‘I didn’t know Gaius needed to be kept an eye on.’

‘My father said he’s dabbled in magic before, but that he stopped, or so my father thought,’ Arthur said, tossing the dirty boots aside with a grimace. ‘Now that he’s back with his old sorcerer friends, however, it looks like things haven’t changed very much.’

‘Eadbald is not a sorcerer,’ Merlin argued, staring out the window. ‘And those animals were butchered, not killed with magic. Those bottles could’ve been there for any number of reasons.’

‘Are you blind?’ Arthur snapped. ‘They’re all sorcerers! They might call themselves herbalists and healers, physicians even; but they’ve all been seduced by magic before, and once magic has you,’ he said with a vicious chuckle, ‘it won’t let you go.’

Merlin refused to look at him. ‘So what if they practice magic? They help people, they cure illnesses and make things better. That’s why their services are required by their lords and kings.’

‘You are so naïve. Do you really think that’s all they do?’ Arthur asked. ‘Have you forgot who drew us to that trap at Athelney?’ 

Hernaut and Aude’s torn, mud-slicked faces drifted into view in the window panes, their books of lore too wet with brackish water for a pyre even though he’d tried. He’d _tried_. 

‘We can never be certain of it.’

Arthur laughed. It sounded ugly to Merlin’s ears. ‘Of course we can. What we don’t have is proof of it. If we did, we’d already have their heads.’ 

Merlin had never told Arthur of the hours he had sacrificed to send the healers off toward what he could have only hoped to be the open sea. He let his cheek rest against the glass. It was warm and unkind. ‘What about me?’ he said.

‘What _about_ you?’ Arthur got up from the bed.

‘Would I be dead, too?’

‘Merlin. Don’t.’

He turned around and put his back to the open shutter, the wood creaking tight against the wall. ‘Tell me, Arthur; would I be dead, too?’ he taunted, seeing Arthur step steadily closer. ‘Should I be dead? Do you want me to go and show them how I—’

‘Shut up,’ Arthur told him, palm pushing, fingers digging into Merlin’s chest. ‘Just shut up, Merlin,’ he pushed again.

‘If you think it’s so wrong, if you…’

Arthur grabbed his shirt and for a moment Merlin thought he’d be slammed back against the wall, but Arthur only leaned in, forehead resting against his, damp blond hair fanning against his eyes. ‘It doesn’t matter what I think.’

‘Yes, it does,’ Merlin whispered, thinking of the marshes thick with mist and nothing to hold on to. ‘It matters to me.’ And he slipped away quick as he could, crossing his arms to steady himself. 

‘Merlin.’ 

‘I’m going to look for Gaius,’ Merlin said, heading for the door. ‘And I’m going to prove that he had no part in this.’ He paused before he turned the lock. ‘Even if he did, there must be a reason for it and he deserves for us to know what it is.’

*

Arthur did not want to be thought to be following Merlin so he went to the one place he had orders to oversee and kept to the task at hand. He had to move now and again before the wet ground threatened to eat his boots, but a few feet here and there meant he did stay in the vicinity of the rowans by the lake, even if he was dislodging an unhealthy amount of soil.

He was circling to check the extent of the trees’ decay against the reeves’ alarming report when he noticed many of the guards and workmen in a loose huddle, half-filled carts of carcasses left to sit in the shade. They were gathered around servants who looked to have come down with light provisions from the palace kitchens, eyes sickened with horror and disgust. 

Gwen stood further apart, arms held close to herself, the whites and yellows of her dress bright amidst the waning rowans and their blackened leaves.

‘So it's true. The trees will be the next to die,’ Gwen said as he approached. She looked too sad to be merely fearful or discomfited, Arthur thought, and he wondered whether they held a special memory for her.

‘Only the rowans,’ he said, hoping to lessen the grief.

‘No, my lord,’ she countered in a raised voice, causing a few heads to turn, ‘that’s not a rowan and it’s dying, too.’ 

Arthur followed her outstretched finger and saw it aimed at what he knew was a rowan; he wondered why she thought herself an expert on trees. ‘Guinevere, that’s a—’

‘The people believe these rowans protect them from nightmares and witchcraft,’ Gwen said quietly, her voice hard, and then as if she could not help it: ‘From all those who died because of your father’s ways.’ She faltered for a moment under his glare before straightening, taking a glance at the onlookers in a manner that invited him to do the same. ‘What is talked about in the palace kitchens will be heard throughout Camelot in a matter of hours,’ she told him. ‘We don’t need panic to spread, not when so many of the country’s allies and old enemies are here to watch.’ 

‘It’s right to be careful,’ Arthur said, and didn’t think he could concede any more, but it seemed enough to bring a look of kindness onto her face.

‘My lord,’ a guard called from below, his boot sloshing grim on the soft ground. ‘The reeves would like to speak to you about the barriers.’

Gwen stepped back as if to let him pass. He put a hand on her shoulder as a gesture of thanks and went down the slope to get back to work.

*

Gaius’ light-filled chambers had been thrown upside down, bearing the shameful marks of Uther’s rash disrespect. Looking around, Morgana thought it a fitting task for the guards to put them to rights again.

She lowered herself to the floor to take the physician’s satchel, usually filled to the brim with bottles and packets of remedies, and set it with care on the workbench. He was meant to be here, working on his precious experiments, filling vessels with foul-smelling potations and making dear, perplexed faces; the room felt foreign without him.

On the worktop was his contraption of iron and glass, the fires unlit. A liquid the colour of the Great Dragon’s hide drew her to pick up the bottle by its neck. She was pondering its origin when the door creaked open. 

‘Lady Morgana,’ Merlin said, less of a greeting than an utterance of surprise.

‘He hasn’t been found,’ she concluded from his dispirited slouch.

‘No. But he and his Mercian friend aren’t the only ones missing,’ he said, making his way through the mess by the door. ‘The Northern healers seem to have disappeared from their lodgings.’

‘I see.’ She set the glass container down and put her hand on a book, the dust trailing up like fairies off its cover.

‘Is there something I can do for you?’ he asked. When she only smiled, he stepped up to the benches lining the wall. ‘There should be some sleeping draught here. Gaius keeps some just in case the—’ He scratched his head and hurriedly took to opening drawers. ‘Strange. I swear I saw a batch here just yesterday.’ 

‘It’s all right, Merlin. I’ve stopped taking the draughts.’

‘You have?’ Merlin said with quiet wonder. 

She heard a drawer shut and turned, waited for him to look at her. ‘Despite the name, nightmares aren’t all bad.’ 

He replied with an uncertain smile, but his eyes seemed filled with a kind of pleasure. She was sure then that he would understand, that the dragon had not misled her. She left the book and made her way to him. ‘Merlin,’ she took hold of his arm, ‘we didn’t choose who—’

The door to the hallway banged open and Merlin stumbled back with a thud. ‘Arthur,’ he mumbled, grimacing as he rubbed his waist. 

Morgana watched as Arthur looked them over from the entrance, his grey tunic mottled silver by sunlight. ‘What is it, Arthur?’ she demanded. 

‘They’ve found the Mercian herbalist,’ Arthur told them, his stare cold.

Merlin rushed to the door as Arthur marched off. ‘If you need anything from Gaius’ stores, please help yourself,’ he said to her.

‘Merlin.’ At that, he stilled, but it looked as if he were already miles away. ‘Gaius holds all of Uther’s secrets,’ she told him, ‘but some of them will not be kept for much longer.’

He took a few steps back toward her, eyes wide and full of caution. ‘What are you saying? Have you—Do you know something?’

‘Arthur needs you. You must take good care of yourself.’

Merlin seemed at a loss for words. ‘All right,’ he chuckled after a moment. ‘I’m properly scared now.’

‘In times like these, we must all take care of each other,’ she said, and leaned in to give him a reassuring kiss on the cheek; he was only a boy still, she knew. He jumped, causing her to catch a corner of his lips, soft and cool under her own. She felt a curling inside her chest, thoughts of besting Arthur breaking like a face through water. 

‘Now, go,’ she said as she stepped past, thinking of her obligations. 

He moved for the door with a look of utter shock in his eyes. She would have laughed were not the circumstance so disheartening. 

‘Some of the pages have a stomach ailment. Don’t expect to see any draughts for it left when you get back,’ she said, turning for the cabinets and not knowing if he would hear. 

‘Just tell them not to drink it all at once!’ she heard him shout from the hallway over the fading patter of his boots.

*

‘Morgana is the king’s ward,’ Arthur said, putting his shoulder in front of Merlin’s as if there was no room for them to walk side by side.

They’d taken horses down the forest trails before, and there were only the two of them now on foot; Merlin felt justified to quicken his pace out of spite. ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

‘If you and Morgana are—I can’t even say it,’ Arthur spat.

‘Good,’ Merlin said, moving past Arthur’s unyielding figure and stumbling a little into the bramble bushes before he righted himself. ‘Because that could possibly be the stupidest notion you’ve ever had.’

‘You’d best remember who you’re talking to, Merlin.’

‘Then you’d best remember who I am,’ Merlin spun to face him, feeling the tether break. ‘You know, I was terrified of being found out. I was always afraid that you'd take notice,’ he said. ‘And now I’m actually afraid that you won’t.’

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but Merlin looked right at him, throwing down the words before he thought them useless to say: ‘Arthur, do you not see?’

They stood staring at each other, Merlin trying to control his anger and his fears and the hopes that were fading away, starved. 

Arthur looked past his shoulder and ground out: ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

The air sharpened and the mournful wood seemed to Merlin on the verge of smothering them in its folds, leaving not a trace to find.

‘My lord, he’s come to,’ someone said from behind him, breathing hard. 

Merlin turned to find a guard and he hadn’t a clue how he had not heard the man approach. He stepped back to let Arthur pass and followed, his stomach churning at the thoughts that had just run through his mind.

They were led along a stream Merlin didn’t recognise, but Arthur looked like he knew where they were heading; if not for everything else, it felt to Merlin like days of old.

By a bend stood a gnarled oak and there lay a man – Eadbald in his blue Mercian robes – surrounded by guards standing at a spear’s distance. 

Merlin ran toward Eadbald and bent down, knees sinking into the dirt.

‘Merlin, stay back!’ Arthur said, halting him with force. 

‘He’s hurt,’ Merlin glanced up to quell Arthur and shook his grip loose. ‘Eadbald,’ he put a hand on the man’s broad chest and an arm around his shoulders, ‘it’s me. Merlin.’

‘Merlin,’ Eadbald mumbled, eyes unfocused. ‘Gaius told me we were too old to be carousing round the city. I fear he may have been right.’

‘Where is he, Eadbald? Where’s Gaius?’

‘I thought it a fine idea to have a swim last night, you see,’ the Mercian said in a pained chuckle. ‘The weather’s been terribly hot and wine has such an effect on one’s self despite its pleasures.’ 

‘Can you get to the point?’ Arthur demanded.

Eadbald moved a single eye and directed it at Arthur; Merlin almost dropped him in surprise. ‘You are even less sensible than Gaius thinks.’

Arthur drew up over them. ‘Old man, you and your friend—’

‘Don't,’ Merlin said to Arthur. ‘Please.’

Arthur crossed his arms, grunting, and Merlin urged Eadbald to continue.

‘As I’ve said,’ Gaius’ friend told him, ‘we had swimming in our minds. We went down to the lake and came upon some men and women performing a ritual. Druids, it turned out, they were. Of course, at the time we didn’t know it was a ritual. It was dark, and chanting and singing are all the same from afar.’

‘What sort of ritual, Eadbald?’ Merlin asked, drowning out Arthur’s muttered lecturing with a scrunch of his boots as he tried to get the man to stand.

‘I don’t know,’ Eadbald groaned. ‘All I know is they wanted the rowans dead.’

Merlin supported Eadbald by the arm and waist, meanwhile wracking his mind to think of an answer. ‘They wanted to break the magical protection,’ Merlin thought aloud, a little too late in minding the Mercian’s hearing when Eadbald winced. ‘They couldn’t kill the rowans outright,’ he said to Arthur, ‘but they couldn’t use magic on them either. Not directly, anyway. They had to use a sacrifice drawn from the forest itself.’ 

‘That is madness,’ Arthur said.

‘What’s madness is employing Druids as your servants. They’re never on time and they’re hopeless with being there when you need them,’ Eadbald muttered.

Arthur shot the Mercian a glare. ‘Will you stop talking!’

‘Well, use them if you like,’ Eadbald scoffed, swaying on his feet; Merlin struggled to keep him upright. ‘I suppose it’s not easy to find ones so good at herding wild animals.’

‘I said shut up, old man!’ 

‘And are you listening?’ Merlin asked Arthur. ‘He seems to think the people who have Gaius are also your servants.’

Arthur stared at him, looking flummoxed. ‘My father has Druids picked up off the streets for execution, not employment.’ 

Merlin felt like throwing Eadbald and his heft at Arthur. ‘Your _servants_ , sire?’

Before Arthur could manage a response, a flurry of red emerged from the depth of the trees, the knights identifying themselves upon demand. 

‘We’ve found some tracks through the woods, my lord,’ Sir Umfrey called to Arthur. ‘They appear to be circling back in the direction of the lake.’

‘Take him to the Mercian tents,’ Arthur commanded the guards, gesturing at Eadbald. ‘Make sure he gets there unharmed.’

‘Yes, sire,’ the men said in unison. They reached for Eadbald to support his weight, which Merlin thought they could’ve done much, much earlier. 

He told the Mercian they would save Gaius at all cost, and let go.

‘I want you to stay here,’ he heard Arthur say to his knights.

‘But, sire, we—’

‘You will stay here,’ Arthur said, his tone final. ‘I want all routes secured and I trust you to do it for me.’ 

The knights glanced at one another. Their mouths remained shut, but there was a collective nod and they rustled to take their positions.

‘Let’s go, Merlin.’

Merlin followed without a word, thinking it best not to look back. 

They made their way through the tangled brush and not long after, past the mossy slope by the overhanging rock where they’d given tribute to the slain unicorn. Arthur was usually much faster than Merlin when it came time to give chase, but Merlin found himself able to keep up. He would give everything to save Gaius, he realised. 

Almost everything.

When they cut through a glade he recognised from the day the Sidhe came to Camelot, he thought it the right moment to pause. He only had to put Arthur to sleep and blame it on a falling branch or something morally sound. Then he would be able to use his magic to save Gaius without any perilous distractions. 

Arthur turned around, seeming to notice his absence. His eyes swept around the clearing before focusing on Merlin. ‘Come on! What are you doing?’

‘I have to give all I can to save Gaius, Arthur!’ Merlin said, already feeling awful about it all. ‘I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to live with myself otherwise.’ 

For a moment, there was a look of alarm on Arthur’s face. It was quickly replaced by one of vexation. ‘Why do you think I asked my men to stay behind, Merlin?’ he asked, rolling his eyes. ‘You know damn well it’s not because I think two people have a better chance than twelve.’ 

Merlin lowered his hand, heart thumping so loudly he was afraid it would start an echo all around the glade. ‘Arthur,’ he said, breaking into a grin, helplessly watching Arthur walk back toward him. 

Arthur took him by the shoulders, into the clasp of his sure hands. ‘I do see, Merlin,’ he said. ‘I just don’t know how to keep you if others do.’ 

‘You will find a way,’ Merlin said, his strains dissolving into bittersweet thrill. ‘If only you can.’ 

‘Because we can,’ Arthur said, laying a tender hand on his cheek.

Merlin nodded, seeing their promise made in Arthur’s eyes, blue as the wings of a jay taking flight. 

When Arthur leaned in, Merlin met his lips and enclosed Arthur in his arms, elated by his solid presence there. He pulled Arthur closer, as close as he could without breaking skin, feeling himself kissed with succour and replying in kind, again and again, relishing the warmth of Arthur’s mouth and the strength of his will.

The forest seemed shrouded still in grief, but he felt he was breathing life itself, clutching at Arthur's shirt and all the gloriously stupid, stupid things they shared. 

‘Your timing is rubbish, you know that?’ he said, finally pushing Arthur away.

‘Come on,’ Arthur said, stumbling forward, laughing as he pulled Merlin into the start of another run. ‘Don’t you want to be a hero, or shall I show you how?’

*

Gaius sighed a sigh to end all sighs. What had started as another night of joyous celebration had turned into a day of intermittent blacking out and coming to, bound by magic on a dirty forest floor and now, separated from Eadbald and worried sick about his friend’s well-being. He knew he would be unharmed by his captors unless he did something foolish, but Eadbald had a knack for losing himself amidst shrubs and trees; there was a reason, after all, why the Mercian palace kept its herbs in tofts.

He had no way of enquiring why they had returned to the banks of the lake, but at the moment he did not much care – not when he was about to faint from the stench of what could only be topped by hot, rotting stew. He glanced at the four healers and the hooded youth with them; they were not who they had claimed to be these nights past, and he was irritated with himself for not having had the clarity of mind to notice the markings on their bodies.

They were speaking among themselves when the youth seemed to alert them to something, for they broke apart to stand over him and set their staffs out in the open. Gaius heard the mad stomping soon enough and looked up. 

‘Gaius!’ Merlin called from the trees, the sun setting behind his tall figure and Arthur’s. ‘What have you done to him?’ he shouted, approaching fast.

‘Stand back, Emrys,’ the female healer said, stepping forward, her hand on Gaius’ shoulder, and Merlin seemed to know it was he whom she meant by that name. ‘It is not you we have called here today.’ 

‘Arthur Pendragon,’ the youth greeted in a small, scratchy voice, and Gaius realised he was only a child. ‘We meet again.’

‘It’s that little boy,’ Gaius heard Arthur say.

‘I won’t let you hurt him,’ Merlin cried out, putting a shoulder in front of Arthur’s.

Arthur said something to Merlin in an indignant whisper, his shoulder overcoming the block. Merlin’s shoulder moved again, his face seeming ready for a tussle. Gaius stared at them in magicked silence, incredulous.

‘Some day you will know the limits of your protection, Emrys,’ the woman said after sharing a look with her accomplices, ‘but we are not here to put them to the test.’

‘Then what the hell do you want?’ Arthur asked, moving closer, one hand on the hilt of his sword. 

Merlin held back in a defiant stance that was all too familiar and Gaius wondered if he was about to do something terribly foolish. If Merlin should upset the stinking soil around them or cause Gaius his neck, Gaius swore he would haunt the boy to the furthest reaches of Albion.

‘When you left our calls unheeded, we grew grave with concern, but perhaps we have what we came for,’ one of the older Druids said, his scarred hand drawing up, mirroring – Gaius realised to his horror – Merlin’s own. ‘Do not follow us and you will find this man safe and well at the borders.’

‘You’re not going anywhere, my friend,’ Merlin said. 

Arthur drew his sword. ‘You will answer for your deeds.’

‘Those deeds were undertaken in the service of Camelot,’ the child said, his dark green robes made vivid by the glow of the sun's farewell to the trees and brush.

‘Do you think butchering royal herds and trees a service to the king? Raising fear in the people of Camelot a service to them? What do you know of our kingdom?’ Arthur shouted. 

‘It is time for Camelot to see its true self,’ the woman said. 

‘The old can no longer hide the future from the young,’ the child said, and Gaius shivered at that. 

‘You were born of the arts your father proclaimed dark,’ the woman said to Arthur; for the very first time, Gaius was glad the whole ordeal was not merely a drunk’s hallucination, otherwise it would be him standing at the top of a tavern table proclaiming these things, sure to lose his head. ‘And sorcery is what protects and guides your life.’

Arthur’s sword was caught in a throw of sunlight as it swung up; Arthur snapped to attention, employing another hand to steady it, his face tight. Merlin had come to Arthur’s side, their shoulders closing to shut out the sun. 

The light broke over the encircling brush and stroke past below their waists, and Gaius saw the forest floor for what it was beneath the stench: blackened earth and root, damp air and blood given for life anew.

‘If any should honour and cherish magic, it is you, Arthur Pendragon,’ the older Druid said. ‘You must accept its rightful place.’ 

Gaius looked on Arthur and Merlin and realised the time for counsel was past. 

He felt a whisper by his ear and fell back into sudden darkness, wishing them well.

*

‘Your father is in Gaius’ chambers. They’re having a talk.’

Arthur nodded, saying nothing. He would meet what was to come: it was his way. 

Merlin picked a tunic off the floor. He took another from the table and frowned at Arthur’s untouched dinner. ‘You should eat. It could be a long night.’ 

‘It has always been Gaius who does most of the talking when it comes to the two of them; nothing new there,’ Arthur said, taking his socks off and throwing them into the pile Merlin had set by the screen. 

Merlin came toward the bed and Arthur could swear the pile wriggled tight behind him, up against the wall. ‘What that woman said about your birth…’

Arthur glanced away. ‘We’ll find out soon enough, won’t we?’ 

‘Arthur, it doesn’t make it wrong. It doesn’t make you a different person.’

He always found it difficult to listen to Merlin, and some things had not changed after all. ‘I am who I am because of it, Merlin. And I rather like myself,’ Arthur said, leaning back on his arms. ‘So you can stop looking like the world has ended.’

‘Do you really mean that?’ Merlin sat down next to him. ‘Not the liking yourself bit because we all know that,’ he said, earning a well-deserved glare. Arthur knew his was poise befitting a prince; it was his duty to like himself. ‘About knowing who you are and being all right with it.’

‘No,’ Arthur told him, wanting Merlin to own his honesty. ‘Not yet. But I will be.’

‘I’m all right with it,’ Merlin said.

Arthur didn’t think Merlin’s words unexpected, but they pleased him nonetheless. ‘That’s because you’re hopeless when it comes to me.’

‘Er, no,’ Merlin said, crossing his ankles. ‘Not exactly.’

‘Is that so?’

Merlin nodded. ‘Yeah. ‘Afraid so. Absolutely not hopeless,’ he said, grinning. ‘Keen, but not hopeless.’ 

Arthur grabbed Merlin by the arms, pushing him down onto the bed. Merlin’s legs kicked up, catching him by the waist. He twisted to the side, pulling Merlin with him, swearing more at Merlin’s laughter than at the pain. They kissed slowly, losing and finding each other in all the right places, Merlin’s breath warming the corners of his mouth. 

‘No matter what happens, I will be with you. Always,’ Merlin whispered.

Arthur nipped at his mouth. ‘Shut up, Merlin.’

‘Well, it’s true.’

‘So many things are,’ Arthur said, and reached under Merlin’s clothes.

Merlin’s waist was too thin for Arthur’s liking, but the feel of his strong body waking to Arthur’s kisses, to Arthur’s hands on his chest and arching back, made Arthur hard. He moved for Merlin’s trousers and Merlin went for the ties of his own, eyes hungry. He thought there was no clearer permission than that. 

Arthur made fast work of Merlin’s undressing, chasing the scent of Merlin’s skin, to Arthur feral and sleek as prey. He took Merlin in his hand and savoured the feel against his palm. Arthur began to stroke to Merlin’s moans, his free arm reaching until he had a grasp of Merlin’s hair and neck, bringing him closer. 

Merlin’s hesitant touch – the careful drag of his hand – was thrilling, and Arthur leaned into it, feverish. He caught the back of Merlin’s thigh with one leg and pressed up and low, sinking them into a rhythm of pursuit, more and more of their skin slicking tight. 

‘Arthur. I’m close. I—Might be a mess,’ Merlin said, shaking. 

‘I know,’ he whispered, though perhaps he knew not.

He thought Merlin’s dark eyes the open night sky, and Merlin’s smile the rise before the first sight of home; and, when Merlin came and he followed in a burn, he thought their destiny the beginning and end of a promise to keep.

~


End file.
